


Hobbits 101

by Questions3



Series: Prompt Fills [3]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Female Bilbo, Hobbit Culture & Customs, M/M, Pirateking, Prompt Fill, hobbits hibernate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 14:55:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9128941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Questions3/pseuds/Questions3
Summary: Pirateking:Bilbo needs to sleep. Something in which hobbits hibernate during the winter, which is why they eat so much through out the year. So Bilbo with whatever pairing you'd like goes around stealing things from his intended to make himself a "nest" or something to hunker down for the winter. Things like clothing, blankets anything that could have his love's scent and hides away either in his own hobbit made burrow or under someone’s bed :). I just think it would be cute if one of the dwarves go around and is like, “Where’s all my stuff at?” and then, “Where’s Bilbo?!” and the whole mountain goes hey-wire looking for their missing hobbit.What makes this sound better in my head is if the dwarf doesn't know that Bilbo has a thing for him, only after getting some information form Gandalf/Elf/Book does he put two and two together, how will he react? He's got all winter to figure out how he's going to tell Bilbo what he feels. Will they find Bilbo's burrow in time?





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pirateking](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pirateking/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Prompts for everyone!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1242676) by [Pirateking](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pirateking/pseuds/Pirateking). 



            Durin’s Day. Thorin could honestly say he _hated_ Durin’s bleeding Day. What did that ancient bastard need a day for anyway?! The deathless dwarf could wrestle the fucking day from his own cold dead grasp when he came back to lead this halfwit gaggle of good for nothing, grumpy, grumbling, gravel eating, grating, grotesque, grass fucking… He couldn’t think of another insult but Mahal damn them all to the fieriest pits of Mordor!

            Of course, the tangent running through the newly instated King of Erebor was mostly concerning the masses of his loyal citizens. It had been a year to the day that the Company of thirteen dwarrow and a hobbit had gatecrashed a dragon’s den. A hard year at that. Who’d have thought the hardest part of reclaiming a kingdom from an overlarge fire-breathing lizard would be the clean up afterwards? There were still caverns that smelled distinctly of dragon dung. But for the most part, Erebor was returned to, if not the glowing glory of its previous incarnation, at least the foundations of such. The first task had been to clear out the residents for the displaced people. With the aid of the refugee Men from the soggy smoldering mess that was Esgaroth who’d traded labor for safe housing from the harsh winters of the East, the majority of the resident halls had been cleared of debris before the first cold snap in the spring.

            Upon such, the endeavors of the allies had turned towards reinstating some semblance of livability to the Men’s homes. The Dwarrow nation, consisting of the original thirteen and those spare hundred or so of Dáin’s army that had been left by their King for aid, had supplied some of the muscle (the rest being subsidized by the Mirkwood Elves (no, Thorin wasn’t in any way sore over this easy aid (that was a rash not rushing blood you damned annoying Halfling! Go bother the librarians!))) and a large chunk of the gold behind the rebuild. Led by Bard the people of Esgaroth were even beginning the plans for the restoration of Dale, though that would not come to fruition for a few years yet.

            By the time the first caravans had begun arriving from the Blue Mountains the Men had been moved into their own homes once more, and there were waiting homes for the new arrivals. Those first caravans were filled with dwarrow fashioned for mining, clearing, and cleaning, thankfully. Once again Thorin was left in awe of his little sister’s planning (and contemplating the possibility if retiring his crown early in favor of the cunning Lady (only the pain she’d surely place him in should he abdicate in her steed made him toss the fancy _far_ from his mind)). The next caravans were families of the miners and _guards_. The first caravan had had a smattering of such, enough to protect the dwarrow in their charge, but this was a far larger number, most of Dwalin’s trainees and his warriors. It only took till the summer for Dwalin to have an operational city Guard and the beginnings of his fierce army. Dáin’s men dispersed for home at this point, though there had been a handful who remained in the city, seeking fortune, position, or just to gawk at the way the King and his Consort were being wrapped tighter and tighter around the tiny finger of a hobbit lass. Something Dís found thoroughly entertaining as she came to the city at the end of the migration with the rest of the mothers and children, heavily guarded by the last of the Guard (though there wasn’t a female among the lot who wouldn’t bite the head off an orc and spit it back down the gushing neck).

            Thorin should have known it was a bad idea to put the biggest nuisance of his existence next to his greatest bane. But Bilbo and Dís had hit it off so well they became practically inseparable. And, of course, upon this new discovery the irritant his parents had blessed him with began a small campaign for a possible joining of the races. Obviously hobbits were quite a bit more levelheaded and charming folk to boot! Why, it would only behoove them to have an alliance with the happy folk. Would Bilbo be willing to act as emissary? And of course, what better way to solidify any formal allegiance than maybe having a few more hobbits move to this side of the world? Were there any who would enjoy the adventure? Maybe even a marriage between the races, to cement the good tidings? Bilbo was unwed as it were; surely she could find a suitable husband amongst their own? She was quite a rich lass now, and being the savior of the Durin line, a highly valued Dwarf Friend and acting ambassador for the Elves and Men, why dwarrow would be beating her door down just for a moment of her company!

            And this line of thought would instantly see Thorin and Dwalin clenching up like a lemon had just been squeezed up their asses and over every wound they’d ever earned after said wound had been reopened and left to fester. Since the debacle that had happened at the Gates, Dwalin had been particularly tetchy when it concerned their hobbit. He’d even gone so far as to beat the sense back into his King, as it were. There were some things the burly warrior had never a mind to experience and the strangled noises from the delicate neck of their crafty little Burglar had been top on the list. It had even managed to snap him out of his own golden fog. After the Battle of Fire Armies, as the oh so ingenious historians were already calling that farce, Thorin had also been given to acknowledging, perhaps, he’d developed a touch more concern for the tiny Halfling since the Carrock–

            _(Fíli: The Misty Mountains)_

_(Kíli: Rivendell, he didn’t even let her out of his sight!)_

_(Dwalin: Hobbiton.)_

_(Fíli & Kíli: *stares incredulous* Hobbiton?!)_

_(Dwalin: Aye (and that’s really all they were getting out of him))_

_(Balin: *rubbing his head in something that seemed like pain* Your Uncle has never been one particularly familiar with expressing his emotions in anything resembling healthy, lads. It took Azanulbizar to confess his feelings for Dwalin.)_

_(Dwlain: Emotionally delayed.)_

_(Balin: *smiling* It was rather romantic. He ran straight up to the brute and smashed the pair together for a kiss in the middle of the worst of the fighting. Only stopping long enough to hack the head off some intrusive wreck.)_

_(Dwalin: *suspiciously pink around the neck and coughing as he leaves this ridiculous aside*)_

            Either way, the pair was well met in their admiration for the hobbit lass, even if they weren’t quite there on how far it went or what they intended to do about it. It wasn’t a usual situation. Dwarrow had long since given over to the practicality of multiple males to one female, seeing as their womenfolk were so damn _rare_! But Hobbits hadn’t appeared to have this problem, and Bilbo had seemed _very_ concerned with propriety when they’d initially met the tiny lass. She’d been damn near prudish until they’d gotten quite a bit further into their journey, Bofur clearly rubbing off on her (no not like that you nasty minded creature!). Even still, she had an amazing range of color to her blushes depending on the _off_ color joke, or open affection being played out in front of her. She’d been damn near felled when it had been revealed Thorin and Dwalin were together in Beorn’s Halls. Apparently two males weren’t something that was accepted in the Shire, though no one really had the stones to ask further as she’d been turned into something of a bug eyed stuttering mess afterwards, excusing herself and locking herself in the bathroom for quite some time afterwards. It hadn’t hurt her relationship with the Company, she’d come out and been just as charming and kind as before, even seemingly a good sight more relaxed for her introspection. She’d risked her life for Thorin and Dwalin once more in the Mirkwood and then on the Battlefield. But the pair had no desire to loose their hobbit to a potential bath drowning should they approach her with their paired desire.

            Though, if they were being honest, it was getting harder and harder to deny themselves. Bilbo had proven herself time and time again on the journey and only continued to impress. Dís insisted they all owed her their lives, her boys and Thorin more than most seeing as it was her interference that had saved them from their own damn pride. The tiny creature had been truly fearsome, as she’d told the Elves and Dwarrow exactly where they could stuff their ill feelings before demanding Thranduil heal the Durin lads. Dáin, always rather bright for his lineage, had merely sat back with Dwalin and Balin as the tiny tyrant had all but dragged the Elf by the ear into the healing tent, sending swift kicks at the shins, guts, and one to the balls of any idiot guard who’d gotten in her way. That had been the beginning of the hobbits browbeating the East into a fear induced truce and peace. The Men, Elves, and Dwarrow had come together in an alliance, kept civil under the baleful glare of one little lass.

            She’d stayed for the rebuilding, insisting she couldn’t leave the dolts to their own devices. During the First Winter she’d seen to the morale and needs of any and all of the dwarrow and Men sheltered in the Mountain. The popularity of the Burglar had only grown, tempered with affection. Thorin was rarely left to wander his halls without the tiny self-appointed advisor at his side. The only times she wasn’t there she was with Ori in the Libraries sorting and transcribing. At first, this had seemed a ridiculously imprudent waste of time. Thorin had even made the mistake of saying so aloud, only to be saved by his loving Consort as Dwalin dragged the stormy eyed hobbit off for weapons training (“May as well make proper use o’ tha’ extra energy, lass” (he’d hardly admit he’d enjoyed the feel of the tiny body squirming under his arm and over his shoulder as he marched out of the hall (he wasn’t some kind of cretin))). It swiftly proved, once more, that even though they had no ‘kingdom’ of their own, hobbits were smarter than those that did. Within a week of excavation she and Ori had stumbled upon the old shaft plans (stop! Mind back up here, where the sidewalk’s dry). It also held the prints for most of the caverns in the Mountain, details even Balin didn’t recall as he looked through them.

            So between her sound advice, stern attitude, and hard work (and pert ass (though no one was admitting to watching that one swan off in those steadily tightening pants (Mahal save them all, but they may need to instate seven meals a day))), Bilbo was worming her way further and further into the hearts of the Mountain and its people. Which is why Thorin had given in to this latest bit of foolishness.

            He was striding down the halls, doing one last check of the nights arrangements. The Elves had arrived with the Men, the day before, placed in their suites for the festivities. Bilbo had suggested, in true hobbitish fashion, that the anniversary of their reclaiming should be commemorated. “It would improve morale in the mountain, give our working dwarrow a chance to enjoy the fruits of their labor, and it would reinforce race relations (and _yes Thorin_ you _will_ invite the elves!).” And of course the entire Company had agreed to every tiny ticked off finger whole-heartedly. Honestly, they would roll over and bark for that hobbit if she merely expressed a preference for dogs. Even Dwalin had been putty, as she’d looked at him with those big beseeching eyes, practically aglow with the thought of dancing and feasting with their people. And that had been what drove the last nail into Thorin’s coffin, _their_ people. Not his, not Dwalin’s, not dwarrow, _theirs_. A party was the least of what Thorin would do to ensure she’d keep thinking of this place as her home.

            Of course, that didn’t make him happy about the arrangements. There was only so much stupid that could be thrown at him at once. And somehow his advisors, merchants, and traders had all managed to dig even _more_ onto that pile. Between telling them all he didn’t give a dirt clods chance in Mordor about flower arrangements and seating protocol, he was going to murder someone. Dwalin, that _traitor_ , had guffawed the entire way to the training fields, not needing to be drawn into this nonsense since he wasn’t _actually_ the Consort yet. The pair fully intended to go through with the ceremony when things settled a bit more in the Mountain, and though Dís had insisted on it sooner rather than later, the pair argued her down (read made stubborn asses of themselves and she’d given it up as bad business). Neither fully willing to acknowledge the reason they weren’t quite willing to take those final binding vows had anything to do with the lack of a tiny hobbit lass.

            And as if this grand feat weren’t enough to drive the King _insane_ , he kept _missing_ things. At first he’d thought perhaps Dwalin had been stealing away with some of his clothes. It made sense, seeing the pair shared everything since they were tykes anyway. But then Dwalin had come stomping into their shared chambers bristling about his missing knuckledusters. Together they’d gone through their belongings and found a shocking lack of cloth. Tunics, jerkins, pants, shirts. Their old leathers from the quest, having been returned to them at the end of the War, were missing too. They’d stomped after Nori next. Dwalin’d had the lad in a chokehold by the time Dís found the pair and had brained them into releasing the damn Spy Master. “Really, he’s rich as anything now, the last thing he needs are your sweaty draws.” Nori’d promised he’d been keeping an eye on the Royal Suits and hadn’t seen anything untoward entering or leaving. He’d assured them he’d keep closer, but when Thorin’s fur cloak had gone missing this very morning he’d had nothing to show for it, not having seen anyone enter or leave the residence the night before at all.

            This, of course, had both in fierce temper. Thorin because he was now marching through the halls of his Kingdom feeling _naked_ , I mean _really_ he’d not been without that furry mess since he’d skinned the warg that’d made it. And Dwalin was antsy as anything, not understanding how he could sleep through an invasion of this magnitude. The guard had deemed it unsafe to leave his lover alone till they’d caught the thief and was shadowing him the entire day. If anything were going to happen this feast would offer the most obvious distraction. So when Dís came racing into the throne room with Fíli and Kíli quick on her heels to ask if either of them had seen Bilbo they were in less than peaceful states of mind.

            When they still hadn’t found her in three hours they were livid.

            When they discovered her rooms hadn’t been slept in for what seemed weeks they were terrified.

***

            “I WANT HER _FOUND!_ ” Thorin’s bellow was shaking the foundations of the bleedin’ mountain as he sent his armored guard out into the surrounding areas of the mountain, having decided she must have been abducted. Dwalin stared darkly at everything and everyone entering and exiting the hall from his lover’s right. It was bad enough the hobbit was missing, possibly being held for ransom, if they were lucky. He wasn’t going to let his guard slip long enough for something sharp to find a home in his King.

            “What in the Father’s name are you bellowing about?” the snide voice was hardly missed in the chaos that the morning had devolved into. But Thorin’s eyes twitched as he tried to remind himself he couldn’t kill the tree-shagger for _no_ reason other than his grating _tone_. Striding down the aisle towards the throne was Thranduil, flanked on either side by his denizen, in the company of the Men’s representative, Bard. Most stopped before the walkway, only the young Prince, Legolas, and the flame haired guard, Tauriel keeping step with their king. Bard standing back a ways to better observe the fireworks. Really, he was only keeping this farce of a leadership position up for the great seats to the show that was their monthly alliance meetings. There was something gut wrenchingly hilarious about these brutish dwarrow and looming elves being taken to task by one female not half their height.

            Seeing the strain in his Uncle was going to get someone killed, Fíli took his first baby steps toward kingship and moved forward to address the elf, “It came to our attention today that the Lady Bilbo has gone missing. You haven’t seen her this morning by any chance, my Lord?”

            “Bilbo’s missing?” Bard’s concern was deep in his baritone as he turned to race from the hall, “Is there a trail? I’ll get my men on it immediately.”

            He was, of course, stopped by the surprise echoing laughter coming from the elven King. Thranduil stared at the bristling dwarf King with harsh blue eyes as he chuckled over the misplaced hobbit. Dwalin was the one who had to be restrained, shockingly, as he leaped at the great ponce, near foaming at the mouth at the blatant disregard for the Burglar’s safety.

            Thorin turned from his companion’s struggle with his nephews to glare icily up at the weed eater, “ _What,_ is _so_ **funny** ,” he snarled at the laughing beast.

            The elf’s face was as smug as anything in the Realm and served only to piss the dwarf off further, “Do you know _anything_ about the people who serve you?” That set the royals back, even Dwalin calmed at this as he paid more heed to the daisy picking, orc-rutting nuisance.

            Seeing the effect his words had on the gathering Thranduil bowed his head a moment, composing himself as he waited out the dwindling patience. The silence was broken, once more, from a surprising corner. It was Legolas who placed a bracing hand on his father’s arm as he stared up into his King’s eyes, “Father, I would know what you speak of, and if we have need to send our own men after our hobbit friend.”

            Bending to the open concern in the hall from all for the hobbit Thranduil placed his sniping aside to assure his little Prince, “There is no need. She is still in the Mountain. Though she will not answer any who seek her.”

            “ _What did you do to Bilbo!?_ ” Kíli’s growl was terrifyingly similar to his Uncle’s. Something Bilbo would have fiercely tried to beat from the boy if she’d been there (never mind he’d never had a need for it if she’d _been_ in the hall).

            The dry look in the elf’s face was enough to garner silence once more (Fíli’s restraining hand aiding in the quest). “Hobbits are very close to nature. Surely even _you_ have come to see this in your dealings with the Lady Bilbo. They flourish with the season. Spring is traditionally filled with births and joy that extends into summer. The Fall brings preparation for the winter, as creatures and plant life, alike, begin to prepare for the long sleep that winter offers.”

            “How is this supposed to help us find Bilbo?!” Dís growled out from her self-restrained position at Thorin’s shoulder.

            An elegant brow rose in derogatory observation of the bluntness of the dwarrow mindset. “If I must spell it out for you, Lady Bilbo has gone into a form of hibernation. Most hobbits sequester themselves somewhere safe and secluded under the ground.”

            “Like bears?” Kíli was incredulous as he thought of the way the beasts would gorge themselves before falling into a stasis till the spring when they woke angrier than Bombur after missing breakfast.

            “Did you think seven meals were a mere cultural proclivity?” With that the King swept back down the aisle in a cloud of smug, speaking all the while, “You will find her somewhere secluded that she finds safe. Possibly under a bed or in a small alcove of her very own.” The elf paused before leaving the hall completely, head bent in curious inquiry, “I don’t suppose any one has noticed their belongings gone missing?” At the shocked looks on the King and his Consort-to-be the elf allowed a look of haughty satisfaction to grace his face, “Hmm, she could do better.” And he was gone, his guard with him, though Tauriel and Legolas had remained, offering their help to locate the hobbit.

            Sending the remaining teams out to find their errant burglar, Thorin turned to Dwalin to puzzle over the cryptic parting. Finally the guard growled, rubbing his baldhead as he did so, “I _hate_ that poncey _bastard_!”

***

            The good news was that it only took an hour to figure out where the hobbit would sequester herself _within_ the Mountain.

            The bad news was that she was more a bear than they’d thought she’d be.

            She spat and hissed, scratched and kicked; biting to get out of the makeshift satchel they’d thrown her in. But even Thorin’s heavy fur couldn’t keep the metal bending decibels screeching out of the bundle from echoing off the halls that held her up as she punched at the unlucky guard as he hauled her in front of the King and Guardsman. He was the third who’d drawn the short stick in the troop who’d located her. The first had been mauled when trying to drag her from her nest and recovering in the Healing Halls (Óin wasn’t really optimistic about his missing fingers); the second had been on the receiving end of those large and painfully limber feet (again, not optimistic. Luckily the lad was one of four boys bred to a Broadbeam family who’d never had any trouble maintaining their family line). This last had the brilliant thought of sacking the burglar and keeping her at arms length. That was, of course, before he fell victim to the thunderous glare on the King and Captain as they all but fly to the squirming bundle. Dwalin, seeing the fall in the making, and more concerned with calming the tiny hobbit down before she hurt herself than dealing with idiots, grabbed the growling bag from the air, “BILBO!”

            Almost instantly, the _moment_ the guard managed to unravel the furs and laid hand on the possessed Halfling she became limp. The transformation was so swift from thing possessed to drooping the son of Fundin near plunged the lass into the stone floor himself. But with reflexes honed in battle he supported the deadweight and moved to cradle the now lax hobbit. Upon settling into his arms and broad chest he found a tiny nose burrowing into his neck and nimble fingers twined into his beard. The previously vicious growls and snarls had petered away into a rumbling resonance that was practically a purr of contentment.

            Shock was a word used to describe astonishment much less severe than what the Durins were experiencing as they watched this scene unfold. “What did you _do_ to her?!” Kíli whispered, not intent on waking her again but angrily accusing nonetheless. His scowl was as dark as anything his Uncle could manage bringing pride to the King and a scowl of her own to his mother.

            “Nothing! We merely dragged her from that damnable nest she’d squirreled herself into. We found her on a high shelf in the library, hiding from sight behind the tomes on the High Elves of the First Age,” the guard was slowly bleeding from one of the _deep_ bites the she-demon had seen fit to bestow on him. His nose was swelling and blackened, clearly broken, and his scalp looked to be missing a chunk of hair… and skin. In the end, they could throw him from the Gates and he’d not take back trapping the menace for a second.

            Thorin came up to the cradled Halfling, reaching a tentative hand towards the tiny creature, only to have it swiftly captured and shoved under a plump cheek as she pressed further into Dwalin’s chest. It was damned _adorable_. “Mahal help us.”

            It was Dís who eventually got the pair moving, insisting they bring her to their chambers, requesting the guards who’d brought her ‘nest’ with them to follow, she’d send Óin up to check on her. Once the guard was gone the Halfling seemed to fall further into sleep, breath deepening as she curled into the blankets of the King’s bed. Her nose was burrowed into Dwalin’s pillow, Thorin’s cushioning her body as she twisted to fit onto the thing. It did nothing for her decency as she was apparently _wearing_ one of the King’s missing shirts and it was cheerily riding up her plump thighs as she twisted into her soft haven. Dwalin’s knuckle-dusters were practically falling off the lass’s petite hands where she’d cradled her head on them. When Óin came into the room the King of the Sylvan wood followed him, unfortunately.

            “What the ‘ell’s he doin’ here?” Dwalin grumbled softly as he tried to remove the hand gear from the surprisingly firm grip of the sleeping hobbit.

            “It seemed prudent as you and your people have less knowledge of hobbit biology than you do of diplomacy and manners,” the snide comment was accompanied by a haughty eyebrow as the elf stepped closer to the bed.

            It was reflex and _centuries_ that saved him from the _mauling_ she’d near given him as Thorin and Dwalin tensed beside her. The pair instantly soothed the tiny growling beast, but only barely managed to lay her back down in her pillowed repose, having to offer their laps as compensation.

            Watching the scene the elf King huffed a bit and nodded, “It seems she truly has chosen so poorly.”

            “What in Mahal’s name are you _talking_ about!?” Thorin growled, only stopping, as it seemed to incite an echoing sound from the dazed hobbit.

            “Is this normal?!” Dwalin asked as he brushed the dark curls from the soft brow, eliciting a purr from the tiny torment.

            The elf allowed himself to be moved by the clear concern in the dense pair’s statures and took pity, “It is not uncommon for a hobbit to construct their ‘nest’ out of materials that remind them, or smell of, their loved ones. Normally it is family, parents, sibling’s… intendeds. It is rather subconscious but it is very deeply felt affection that governs their actions. The scents of home and hearth calming their suddenly surfacing instincts.”

            “Why is she doing this _now_? She didn’t do anything of the sort last winter,” Thorin demanded, not allowing the flutter that statement had caused in him to affect his tone or stance, though he did move closer to the hobbit, hand clenching a little tighter over the garment she wore. Dwalin had stilled at the admittance, staring at the tiny bundle sprawled over his King and himself. He even allowed a small ( _tiny_ , practically not even there. As a matter of fact, he denies its existence) smile to lift his mustache as he kept stroking large fingers through the tangled mess of dark, and shockingly soft, curls in his lap.

            Frowning at the impertinence, Thranduil glared, “There is little about a dragon infested _mountain_ that screams of _home_ to anyone, least of all hobbits. She could hardly have allowed her natural cycles to ensue when mired in so much _disaster_. Not to mention the _lack_ of proper sustenance she’d received during your campaign across the continent. Truly, you’re lucky she didn’t succumb to some form of illness, it is not advisable to starve and then cause sleep deprivation in a hobbit. Though she has proven more resilient than any other of her kind I have met.” The last was stated in something approaching affection as the elf came forward once more to trail a slim hand down a soft cheek, only causing a momentary tensing before a huffed sigh. With that the elf smiled and was once again off, followed by a distinctly thick air of self-satisfaction. Only pausing to instruct, “You should keep her with you, both of you. Or you’ll have a repeat of today’s distress, and I assure you, next time you won’t find her so easily, if at all.”

***

            After all that, there was nothing to do _but_ let Bilbo remain in their bedchamber. The pair had hesitated at the thought of sleeping with the lass, only resolving to do so when, after a night sleeping in the antechamber to their rooms, Thorin had woken to a Halfling softly snoring on his chest. Dwalin had chuckled as he tucked her back into their bed, curling around the lass for a few more hours sleep before rounds.

            Everything seemed to have settled once more into a pattern Thorin could live with, firmly in control of the situation as he deluded himself into being. Even Dís’s teasing after she’d walked in to find the three cuddling the next morning fit into the lot Thorin had come to accept as his own. That being said, Bilbo had always been a stubbornly contrary creature. Add her penchant for straining the status quo with his heir’s astounding ability to wreck whatever small amount of peace their family managed and it was a recipe for far more grey in that ebony crown.

            It wasn’t as though they didn’t know better. Young Kíli was a dwarf of action; he’d been raised, as most of this generation of Durin folk, on the road and in a Kingdom that, though comfortable, lacked the traditional trappings of the old Erebor courts. There had been a necessary informality in the Blue Mountains that had been established since their wandering years. They were all peasants, all cast away, begging and working at backbreaking labors to maintain _life_ , to the Forge with _status_! Of course, as the youngest heirs to the Durin line, there had been some small reverence and attempts at royal deference. Balin had made a true go at drilling something like majesty and decorum in the lads, their uncle and mother seeing it only fitting to train them in what little court etiquette they’d been given before the loss of their childhood home. Fíli had grown to an age and maturity that had managed to embrace at least a veneer of these instructions but young Kíli had yet to find anything worth while in the nonsense and posturing. He’d make sincere attempts to be the Prince his people deserved, doubly so upon the reclamation of their ancestral home. The lad shirked no duty, he worked with his people moving rubble, cleaning debris, mopping up dragon shit. Nothing was beneath him or his kin as Thorin and his Company worked side by side with the rest of the migrant nation. The line of Durin was only ever as strong as its people’s trust in them and their people would follow them into the bowls of hell itself seeing the backbreaking work and danger their rulers were willing to engage for their sake. The one thing that ever seemed capable of turning the lad’s nose up was politics. He’d faced orcs, elves, goblins and a dragon without flinching and nothing more than his devil’s may care grin, but the moment those hoary grinders his Uncle called advisors got that look in their eyes he’d suddenly be wide eyed and looking to hide behind his mother’s skirts.

            As it turned out the Lady Dís was less than inclined to save her youngest from this less than honorable demise, pointing out that the lad was the second heir, his tasks far less tiring than his brother’s, but just as important. Until the time Fíli took a mate Kíli would have to be the support his brother would need, just as Dís was Thorin’s (and would continue to be so as Dwalin’s answer to this nuisance was to clean Grasper and glare at them). Of course, Kíli was far from agreeing with that sentiment. True Fíli was learning the finer points of alliances and just rule. The sheer amount of reading and lore that had to be devoured on legislature and decrees, traditions that couldn’t be shirked and others that could be molded to their needs, was tricky and vast. But Fíli had the advantage of being mostly concerned with other races and the armed guards. The King was largely in charge of keeping Erebor strong and safe. Dís’s role had more to do with the daily running of the mountain. She was training Kíli to help maintain the peace and comforts within their society. And if there was one thing Bilbo could tell anyone, it was that the stubbornness of dwarves was _legendary_.

            Meeting upon meeting with Guild masters and Accountants, trying to fund and refurbish the Kingdom without bankrupting it. Kíli was hardly shit with numbers, but after a few _dozen_ hours of them he was bleeding from the nose and honestly contemplating death at his own hand. Just _take_ the bleeding gold! He’d mine more with his bludgeoned in skull! Never mind the actual dealings with his people! They were taciturn and ornery at best, bloody insufferable orc shits at worst. None of them had the powers of reason necessary to realize that, yes, the Mountain needed a strong Miner’s Guild to continue to enhance the wealth of the reestablishing nation, with some of the best equipment they could find, but they also needed to supply the Cooks with living wages and send out a contingent of hunters to survey the local herds and financially back the Cloth Merchants so those same Miners could be clothed and not be sent into the depths bare-assed. And _yes_ Erebor was flush in riches but there was something called a reserve for lean years when they would need to rely on bought goods and there were winter stores to fill for next term if not this one and not all of the mounds of riches in the treasury actually _belonged_ to Erebor! And these arguments could go on for hours, eventually deteriorating into shouting matches where this Guild Master would call that one a craftless weed-eater and then the other would call them a disgrace to dwarf kind, someone would go for a beard and the Princess would inevitably sigh and wade in to rap heads together. But by the time she’d managed that Kíli would have just about convinced himself it would be better to take what little of his share he could carry and leave the Mountain to the horde.

            But at least he could _understand_ the Guild meetings. The plight of the Merchants and Workers was intimately known to him, remembering the dismay on his mother and uncle’s faces when they had to stretch what earnings the rulers had managed to scrounge that week for food and supplies. He could sympathize with the yearning they had to finally be allowed to explore a level of craft and culture denied them so long. So many of his people had been delegated to little more than blacksmiths in the city of Men, barely making living wages on mending work. Now they had an opportunity to _create_ , a rarely appreciated part of the warrior race’s makeup but a deeply felt one within the insular culture. They weren’t limited to the meager metals and stone, the lack luster fare the Blue Mountains had offered them. They had Erebor with streams of gold and caverns of jewels and mines all opening for them, singing to their senses and demanding their craftsmen’s caress. It was a thrumming in all the dwarrow’s blood as they settled into their new old home. So yes, he could understand the Guilds and their desires and needs, so much so he barely found it in himself to begrudge them his time and ear. The true drudgery he found in his new duties that sent him careening into walls at the end of the day, were these so called ‘advisors’ his Lady Mother and Lord Uncle had appointed.

            Balin had told him that it was necessary for such a nascent nation to rely on the wisdom of those that could remember the glory of Erebor as they moved forward in the reconstruction. Dwalin had pointedly called his brother a fruit bat and told the lads the only reason the hoary codgers hadn’t been left to die off in the Wilds was because they gave everyone an appreciation for the straightforward nature of an Orc attack. And though Dwalin had been bashed in the head for that Thorin hadn’t seemed to disagree and Dís tended to have a head curative on hand for every council she held with the barnacles. And after his first meeting with them Kíli had no doubts whatsoever the only reason they had been granted their positions as chief Advisors to the Royal Family was because Thorin had gotten tired of their constant yammering.

            These meetings never dissolved into physical violence, no matter how much the young Durin wished they would. No, instead they went on and on about antiquated forms of rule and class. Old Erebor had been a nation of extreme wealth, and a strong ruling class. The King held court over some of the wealthiest families in the dwarf nations; all with ties in the direct line and all with old wealth. These decrepit goats were each cousins of some contorted degree to that historic class, having survived the drought of the past few centuries on their reserves and high standing. They weren’t directly connected to the woes of their people; they hadn’t fought in the battle of Azanulbizar, or that of Five Armies. They had sent representatives, certainly, lesser family members to bear their crests in honor and death. And they were keen to see the restoration of the old nation. And when the Princess and young Prince attempted to allocate aid to the growing and establishing peoples of their Kingdom the compensation was hours of moldy ruminations on the old days and the impropriety of such actions as they led to a nation of beggars, not workers. And there was no arguing with them, too hot blooded the line of Durin, better to keep mouths in check or they’d loose another one to Dís throwing him out a window, only to be replaced with three others.

            So Kíli had taken to half dozing during these utterly useless meetings, biding his time before he could run for the training field and take his pent up energy out on some of the trainees. The only thing that kept him in anything resembling line was that Fíli was not spared these conventions, though the heir did have the buffer that was Thorin and Dwalin’s synced glaring. But even so, the lad was only going to be able to handle so much toil before he broke. And that is the exact frame of prey animal mind he found himself in as he raced through the halls of the Royal Chambers trying to escape the greybeard goat brigade. Just that morning he’d signed his seal to a decree that would see a certain amount of aid given to those folk who’d been disabled during their Wandering Years. The moment seal met parchment his brain seized in a massive ache as though warning him of the sheer folly. Almost as soon as that had happened he’d been hailed in the halls by no less than seven of the ancients for a ‘chat’ which he’d smilingly waved off and cheerily ran away. A young, capable, dwarrow warrior racing away from the walking preserves of his homeland. And he felt _absolutely_ no shame as he slammed his Uncle’s chamber door behind him and slid under the over large bed Thorin shared with the Captain of the Guard.

            Of course, in his haste to be away, the lad had forgotten that the behemoth of a bed had recently become a cozy nest to not just his Uncle and childhood Hero, but to their tiny hibernating Burglar. Not ten minutes into his sequestering he heard a soft shift of sheets and a tired huff and snuffling from above him. Fear gripped his heart for a gut wrenching moment as he thought he’d been discovered, only to calm when a dainty pair of hands squirmed away at the edge of the bed, apparently trying to find him underneath. The lad sighed as his head fell to the cool stone below in relief (because even the wrath of a bearhobbit or his uncle was better at this point than those dusty dimwits) before he crawled towards the questing limbs, “Bilbo? Have you woken up again? Do you need more food?” It was still far too deep in Winter for the lass’s hibernation to be over, so he could only assume food would be the rousing impulse. It had also seemed to be the only thing that would sooth the creature when his Uncle and Dwalin weren’t about. The cleaning staff had made the discovery, coming just shy of a thrashing due to their quick thinking as they threw their lunch satchels at the mythical hobbit beast. Scooting closer to the edge he offered a tentative hand up, only too aware of how badly she’d beaten the guard’s who’d originally found her, and under no delusion she’d necessarily have as calm a reaction to him as she’d had to Dwalin and Thorin. But surprises were certainly Bilbo’s forte as once she’d grabbed the young dwarf’s hand he found himself gently urged out of the space underneath.

            Kneeling at the edge of the bed he found the rumpled, warm hobbit softly blinking at him, brown eyes still hazy with the sleep she was engaged in. She’d apparently squirreled her way into one of Thorin’s old tunics, the shirt engulfing her slighter figure, voluminous as it pooled into the shared bed sheets (Dwalin had wormed his knuckledusters off her one eve early on, but Kíli could just see the leather peaking out from under a pillow at the bed where she’d hidden the left one she’d apparently squirreled back away). The sight of the mused creature had a calming effect on the Durin lad, and he found his heartbeat settling as he bit back a hearty chuckle at the curly mess her dark locks had become, “Bilbo, we have to get you a brush.” The quietly amused voice seemed to catch her attention as she trained those sleep drugged eyes on the lad’s face and pursed her own mouth, brow pulling into a frown. Insistent pulling at his arm continued, “What? You want me in bed?” the surprise was writ on his face and voice. She’d _mauled_ the last people who hadn’t been his Uncle or Dwalin who came this close to her nesting. But the confused face gave way to drowsy nodding. The lad blushed hotly at the thought and then blanched as Dwalin’s reaction to that scenario burst into vivid detail in his mind. Shaking his head rapidly the lad made to stand up and back away, “I don’t think so Bilbo. Thanks but I’m partial to my head where it is.”

            The frown was back in an instant and suddenly Kíli was acquainted with just how strong their hobbit actually was as he followed his arm, toppling into the nest. Before he could do more than turn over he was suddenly accosted, an insistent hand clutching at his blue outer tunic and pulling him down to rest on an amazingly soft tummy, the rest of the hobbit curling around his head. When he tried to rise up he found a growl his reward and a tighter clutch on his tunic. “Bilbo, I’m the _spare_ heir, you’re going to get me killed!” and, sensing the trepidation and nerves in the dwarfling’s voice and tense body a second hand rose up and began to softly thread through the long black hair. Before Kíli could gather the will to object to the (immensely relieving) liberties he felt and heard the gentle crooning that was being softly emitted. Compounded with the gentle massaging of his scalp the lad found himself relaxing into the soft burglar. Maybe he’d stay here, at least until she fell back to sleep. No need upsetting the hobbit. His uncle would be even less pleased if he came home to a disgruntled Halfling. And when, a few moments later, he drifted off to the wordless lullaby, none were the wiser, not even the now sleeping hobbit lass.

***

            Upon returning from an alliance meeting with Thorin and the Elves, Fíli was unceremoniously told his little brother had not only ran away from the Advisor Counsel, but, in fact, hadn’t been seen since early that morning. Seeing as it was half past lunch hour, Thorin was less than amused with the youngest heir’s disappointing lack of discipline, though he could understand it entirely. Either way, Dís had been left the duties of maintaining the Mountain alone and had not had the proper time to search out her fool son, and seeing the Counsel was gearing up for one of their longer winded complaints the young heir heaved a tired sigh before steeling himself for the inevitable. Thorin watched the tired lad, the road’s dust still coating him thickly, gird his loins for this impending political battle and had a moment of paternal pity, “Fíli, go find your brother and send him to me, then get cleaned up. I’ll see to the Advisor Counsel in the thrown room.” The look of pure love and devotion the King was sent from sharp blue eyes almost made it worth it as his nephew practically fell over himself getting away from the impending doom. Thorin, turning to the insane goat like stares of the old coots, thought perhaps _almost_ wasn’t good enough.

            It took Fíli all of a half hour to find his brother, after checking their usual haunts. Kíli may have been a fully-grown dwarf but he hadn’t changed much since childhood. Whenever they’d played hide and seek the first places he’d go were either their closet, the kitchen cupboards, or under Uncle Thorin’s bed. He’d hoped he hadn’t been stupid enough to tempt the wrath of the sleeping burglar but he imagined if his little brother had really abandoned all his duties that day, the lad had been truly desperate. And there was very little a desperate Durin wouldn’t do or tempt, (sleeping dragons being the least of them). But the sight that greeted Fíli upon his exaggeratedly careful attempt to silently enter the fiend's sleeping chambers near sent him to Óin in shock. There, in the middle of half the blankets of all Arda was the tiny sleeping hobbit, flushed in sleep, hair wild and dark, and body wrapped around the head of his equally unconscious brother. Kíli lay on his back, head pillowed on the Halfling’s stomach, one tiny hand grasped in his tunic and another wrapped around his family braid.

            His shock must have produced some sound because, with a twitch, the hobbit’s eyes blinked open and turned to gaze up at his direction dazedly. The heir froze attempting to pass through her sight by sheer will alone. But no such luck was coming as the lass snuffled a bit, raised her head from the blankets and unlatched his brother’s braid to extend the hand towards him, a soft croon in the back of her throat breaking the silence. Before he could turn tail and run he was stopped by a sleep soaked rumble he’d grown up with, “Better not, she’ll probably just chase you.” At the sound of Kíli’s wakeful voice the hobbit seemed to chirp and fussed over the younger dwarf’s hair again, gaining an appreciative groan from the sleepy brunette. “Don’t fight it, just get in. You look like you need it more than I did,” and with that last bit of wisdom Kíli was back to unconsciousness, snoring softly under the hobbit’s maternal ministrations.

            Fíli watched the satisfied sleepy smile on his brother’s face and the content one on Bilbo’s, then he took stock of just how soft and inviting that bed looked and just how sore his body was from the hard ride. He thought about the Advisor’s Counsel, about the Trade talks they’d just had, about trying to corral his Uncle when they’d been talking to those blasted aggravating _elves_. His body sagged as he glanced back at the beckoning hand of his tiny friend and sighed as he shook off the travel armor and boots before bundling over to lay his own head next to his brother’s on equally soft thigh and hip. The last of his misgivings fading into a tired groan as a soft hand carded through his dirty hair and a soft voice began to croon a sweet lullaby.

***

            Thorin had seen neither hide nor hair of _either_ of his damn nephews, they had both abandoned their duties and guardians to their individual hells this day. First he’d had to calm the Advisory Counsel down from their disgruntled ruffle over the blatant disrespect, something Dís had tried doing much earlier in the day that neither had succeeded at, only being able to put it off by promising the Prince would apologize profusely once they _found_ the little shit. Never mind the siblings both thought the lad had the right of it, they were both livid he’d thought of it first. Then, Balin and Dís had reamed him for his lack of grace when dealing with the weedeaters that morning, but he was hardly going to apologize for that. Finally, Dwalin had been acting like some kind of scorned lover lately over the apparent proprietary placement their hobbit had been taking over him in their sleep. The pair woke up almost every morning with Bilbo crawled half atop the King and Dwalin sleeping beside the pair. The great oaf couldn’t simply talk about his feelings like a grown ass dwarrow (kettle’s and pots not coming into this _at all_ , thank you Dís!), he had to mope and throw trainees over walls all day to compensate. For being _King_ of this cursed rock he was feeling less and less in control as the hours ticked on. He’d been on his way to the training grounds, intent on throwing his overlarge dwarf-child off the damn wall himself when Ori all but ran into him, panting and about to collapse. The only thing the lad managed to get out before Thorin was racing through the halls with a barking order to “GET DWALIN!” was, “… *huff*… *puff*… Bilbo!”

            He’d raced through the halls back to the Royal Chambers, and all but slammed into a wall of dwarrow, blocking the way from a very angry sounding snarling. A quick inspection had him growling himself when he saw it was the _damn Advisory Counsel_ that had barged into his and his Consort’s bedchambers. Having had enough of their interfering hides he slammed his way through the thrall and pushed through to the edge of his bed, where his sister was watching from a close corner of the room, mouth covered by a bejeweled hand. Even then the laughter wasn’t exactly constrained as her shoulders rocked and she swayed against the wall.

            “What in Mahal’s Forge is going on here?!” and that’s when he saw her. There Bilbo was, clutching Kíli’s and Fíli’s tunics in a vice grip, eyes narrowed to vicious slits as she glared up at the intruders. There was a small smearing of blood over her snarling mouth where she’d apparently _bitten_ one of the Head Council members. Her body was taut with strain as she bristled and crouched over the prone bodies of his heirs, hissing and snarling the entire time. Thorin pushed further to the forefront and glared down at his bewildered nephews. The youngest Durin switched his confused gaze from the exacerbated and protective hobbit where she was continuing to bare her teeth at the guards to his confused uncle. As Kíli seemed to have lost his chatter (and color) Fíli tried to push up only to be stilled by a heavy leg over his chest, “We didn’t do it!”

            “Shut up the pair of you!” Dís heaved as she saw the upset the lass took to their continued attempts to rise. The Hobbit was having none of it and the motions of her addled lads were only adding fuel to the fires. “Keep still and be silent for the first time in your cursed lives!”

            Seeing Bilbo’s wary expression seemed more focused on the Counsel Thorin deemed the correct action to bring this farce back in hand, “ ** _OUT!_** ”

            The one with the bleeding paw bristled as he stumbled forward, “This is _hardly_ the way to run a Kingdom! Your grandfather would _never_ have suffered any creature that had _attacked_ a member of his _Counsel_! Not to mention the _creature_ has been _sleeping_ here with nothing like proper ceremony or courtship! And had _you_ behaved as your own heirs have this day he’d have –”

            “He’d have _what_?” the dire tones in the dulcet voice stopped the aggrieved advisor where he stood as Lady Dís stepped forward to stand in front of her children and their hobbit protector. Suddenly the Advisor found himself in the twin sights of two very distinctly stormy and harsh blue gazes. Lesser Men had loosed their bowels at this tactic, to say nothing of this feeble old tog. So with nary a last huff (and an odd gait here and there, sour scents wafting) and disgruntled murmurs throughout, the mob filed out of the room.

            Once the door was closed the Princess turned back to her brother’s snarling burglar and nodded, “Well now that’s done with, what to do about this?”

            But it turned out to be of no concern as once they closed the door behind them the Halfling’s spine relaxed and she settled back on top of the younger dwarrow. The position was still one of intense defense, however, and the King wasn’t certain of the reception either Durin would receive. Seeing her brother was hardly ready to make the first move Dís tentatively reached her own hand forward towards the Halfling. Her brother was about to snatch it back when the Hobbit’s head came up and she seemed to stare at the limb a moment, breathing deeply around it. Before either of them could contemplate if this was a success of not, the lass lowered her curly tangled head and bopped against the firm motherly hand. In the next instant she’d sent a small rumbly purr towards the Durin lass and collapsed back onto her boys, though the brown eyes were still open and watchful from her perch. Thorin approached the bed calmly, not willing to stretch their luck, and extended his own hand slowly. And when it seemed she wasn’t going to rend it from him, either, he let it settle on her head, calmingly. Almost instantly the eyes closed completely and the head fell down onto the younglings’ stomach. As he trailed down her tresses and spine she let loose a rumbling purr and fell back into her deep slumber.

            With exaggerated care the young Princes’ gently relocated and found themselves thrown from the Royal Chambers by their enraged mother, leaving Thorin perched on the bed, petting his hobbit. When Dwalin came roaring into the chambers the lass jostled a bit but stayed asleep and after a retelling of the incident the pair decided it was time for their own sleep. Of course, when they went to lie on either side of their little hobbit Thorin suddenly recalled the conversation he was supposed to have with his other half as the tiny creature between them settled onto his chest and the burly warrior did not follow, as was his usual penchant. All the King could do was glare at the sulky bald bastard before giving into the cloying numbness of sleep. A sleep that was disturbed half through the night when a keening began as the burglar rustled about on top of him. Her curly head was butting his chin as an arm reached out, almost drunkenly, behind her in a seeking manner. Dwalin wasn’t the heaviest of sleepers and had roused to the first signs of distress. Seeing the grasping hand he hesitated a moment till the near heart rending cries registered and finally reached the length of the bed for the tiny fingers. The results were instantaneous, as a large sigh shook through the sleeping hobbit and that hand grasped the dwarrow tightly, pulling insistently. And though he didn’t understand quite what was going through that addled head of hers he knew better than to fight the desires of a hibernating hobbit, so he moved into his traditional position, curling around the tiny lass where she sprawled over his King.

            In the morning the pair went about their usual business only to be informed that howling was coming from their chambers like some wounded warg. The family Durin stomped back inside to find a frantic Halfling under the bed keening. When Kíli made a soft exclamation of concern the keening stopped and he found himself forcibly thrown into the huge nest, Fíli right next to him and the pair were once again cushioned and being swooned into sleep by their hobbit friend. Dís didn’t stop laughing for the rest of the week as it became obvious the hobbit lass wouldn’t be sleeping alone any longer during the day. The sour looks she got from her brother when she decided to join them were priceless and the confusion on Dwalin’s face made Balin chuckle heartily with the Princess.

***

            Nothing nonsensical ever escaped Gandalf’s note for long, and when he arrived at the Mountain he was lead straight to the sleeping chambers. He was greeted by the curious sight of the tiny hobbit lass, hands firmly latched into the dark tresses of a sleeping Kíli where he lay in her lap, leaning against the strong shoulder of the dozing Lady Dís, who held her elder son’s head in her own lap, also quite unconscious. He turned to Thorin and Dwalin in amusement as he informed the pair of concerned suitors, “It is hobbit nature to be very concerned with their families. As Bilbo has made her choice in the pair of you, so she has extended her concern and instinct to accept the young princes as her den’s younglings. Developing faunts need more sleep than most hobbits, as it were. She is merely attempting to keep the pair hearty and healthy.”

            The wizard’s explanation seemed to sit rather pleasingly with the King as he watched his family and hobbit together. He may begrudge the extra work he had to do and the sour faced advisors, but he’d do far more to ensure Bilbo’s continued happiness and health. Of course, it in no way comforted the guard as he began to think on whether the lass was merely viewing him as an extension of _Thorin’s_ family instead of a proper mate in and of his own right. And though Gandalf was more than happy to allow people to stew in their own nonsense and pointedly ignored the grumbly guard for the rest of his visit, Dís was not one to suffer stupid willingly. Seeing the growing concern in the hardening of the guard towards the populace at large (and the alarming number of rookies that were resigning from their sick beds in Óin’s Healing Halls) she visited him during one of his ‘patrols’ and lightly thwapped him in the head, “She wouldn’t have taken your things is she didn’t want you too you oaf.” The lad rubbed his head as he mumbled under his breath, “I’m sorry, what was that?” the princess demanded, eyes glaring as she contemplated what she was almost positive she’d heard.

            “I said ‘then why’s the lass so much keener to be with him?!’” instantly he regretted his outburst, embarrassed by his insecurities, as well as rewarded with another hard knock to the head. Honestly it was no surprise the bloody line of Durin was emotionally constipated if when they reached out to engage in healthy exchange they were damn near concussed for the effort. He could barely believe he’d asked at all, it was out of character for his gruff demeanor and insular nature. But weeks of insecurity and confusion, with the promise of still more to come (Balin blatantly refusing to engage his brother’s nonsense and cuddle up to the sleeping miss), was wearing thinly on the guard as he was subjected to watching the sweet little thing curling into his mate’s family.

            Dís breathed deeply and hissed the air out her nose, sending her beads to jingling at her sideburns. Praying to the Valar for patience or a miraculous infusion of wit she turned to the ornery guard, “Dwalin, you’ve seen her with the boys yes?” at the dissatisfied nod she snorted lightly at the jealousy there. “You’ve seen how she curls around and over them? Always securing them to her and wary of anyone within striking distance. Doesn’t it seem a bit familiar?”

            “What’s the bleedin’ point lass?” the exasperation was clear as the dwarrow was never pleased with these games even when his own brother tried them. Honestly if you had something to say go ahead and bloody well say it, leave the guessing games to the grass guzzlers.

            Of course, half the fun was pissing the dwarf off so Dís smirked as she continued, “Dwalin, she treats them the same! Bilbo makes no secret she thinks my brother _addled_. Completely sure he’d have perished, lost wandering about the Shire had he not _miraculously_ spied the marking on her door. Not to mention the multiple times she’s come to his rescue, and that includes against himself. Even unconscious her instincts towards Thorin are to protect. Now think on how she is with you? How she reacted when we first found her? She’d been spitting like a cat that had been sat on until you showed up. Why could that be?”

            The guard took a moment to stew over the observations. His face grew brighter and his grin wider as he thought how much deeper Bilbo seemed to sleep when he was wrapped around her. How she instantly relaxed when he entered the room. How she’d become practically boneless in his arms when they’d first found her. Even unconscious she relied on his strength, she trusted in his desire to protect his kin, and herself. His strength setting her at ease, the lack of it causing distress and nerves to run amuck.

            That night Dwalin retired just a bit earlier than usual, taking some time to engage the sleeping hobbit alone. The moment his presence permeated the sleepy brain she rolled off the lads who’d been looking to run off and purred up at him from her back. Alone he moved to the bed and caressed a hand through the curly locks that jumbled about her head, and down the sleep flushed face. Tiny hands came up to grasp the hand and soft lips brushed against his palm in tired affection before she seemed to grow tired of waiting and dragged herself into his lap, grasping his arms around her plump form, burrowing her face into his neck.

            Thorin found them like that an hour later sighing in relief that his mate had apparently worked through his insecurities regarding their burglar. Of course, he was hardly pleased the next morning when the horse’s ass explained the reason he was so assured and there would certainly be talks with the tiny nuisance when she woke of exactly how he was _not_ a dwarfling. Moments later his mind had followed that thought into exactly how he could _show_ the plump morsel how _grown_ he really was, and how often they could do so. Winters end couldn’t come soon enough for the harshly celibate lovers.

***

            She was slowly moving around, eyes heavy and mind foggy as she came back to herself. Really, these winter naps were quite cumbersome, and they only left her feeling even foggier if she skipped them for one reason or another. The dawn should be coming through soon, her body thrumming with the slow revival of life around the mountain. But before she could enjoy it she’d have to crawl out of her nest and find her way out to it. As she moved her legs up, stretching unused musculature as she slid about she felt it slip up and between two rather solid something as she did. Her brow creased as she shifted her hips around, feeling something plastered against her back, radiating heat in a pleasant fashion. The grumbling that resulted from her undulations caused her to freeze in shock. It was only as adrenaline began to race through her muffled head that she realized just what was pinning her down, and as the arm tightened around her waist and a large nose burrowed into the back of her neck she let out a tiny squeak.

            That was enough to still Dwalin’s cuddling affections as he registered a strain in their hobbit that he hadn’t seen in months. With a huffing sigh and one last nuzzle he removed himself from the minx, allowing her to turn over onto her back and stare up at him in confused shock, and not a little bit of embarrassment. Before either could say a word Thorin’s sleep roughened voice grumbled, not at all appreciative of loosing the heat and weight of his tiny companion, especially not when her leg had been starting some rather curious sensations, riding between his own as it had, “What’s wrong? Is she looking for the boys again?”

            Shock and embarrassment vied for space in her terror stricken face as Bilbo’s broken voice yelped, “Boys!?”

            At the first sound of an actual articulation in more months than anyone was confortable with, the King surged forward, grabbing her face and turning it up to his own as he looked into suddenly very _aware_ brown eyes. The nerves there would have to be sorted out but at the moment he was just so relieved to see Bilbo’s mind reflected in her gaze he couldn’t hold back the relief or the need as he claimed her plump pink lips for his own.

            But, once again, it must not be forgotten that Bilbo is nothing if not contrary. So, with a squeak that sent every quadruped in the Kingdom’s ears to ringing (and Óin to fall out of bed for some reason) she pushed the ardent King off her and would have instantly tumbled off the bed. Thankfully Dwalin was taking up the hobby of hobbit catch and ceased the tumbleweed lass. He hadn’t realized just how much he liked how the lass would relax into his grip until this moment when the reverse was happening. The guard could practically _see_ the muscles and nerves grow taut as she clutched at his bare shoulders and sprawled across his chest, half on half off the bed. Though he supposed, in his deepest of secret feelings, that he’d trade all that and more to see that chocolate gaze again, pinched or no. Without looking up from the rapidly reddening female in his tightening clutch Dwalin grumbled, “No, it’s no’ the lads she’s after. Least ways it better no’ be after the past few months.”

            “Months?” that was so incredibly _not_ breathlessly exhaled. Bilbo was a respectable… well maybe not. No not so much a respectable hobbit, a respectable hobbit wouldn’t chase a baker’s dozen of dwarrow out her door, or lie to elves, or kill spiders, or ride a lake in a barrel, or riddle with odd dark things, or dragons. And they most assuredly would not be content to remain draped over, ever so slightly stroking, the oh so _solid_ and _warm_ expanse of dwarven muscle. While his _husband stood behind her!_

            Truly she was going to do the pet population of the Mountain some great damage with the frightful noises she was making. Beasts not withstanding, her squeak did make Dwalin toss the lass back onto the bed. And I do mean toss. She yipped a bit in midair before landing on the soft mattress, bouncing a moment before settling in a heap of furs and cloth on her back. Before she could right herself, or even just her nightshirt (no, wait, _Thorin’s_ tunic, oh dear Mother she was in so much trouble she couldn’t even conceptualize it) the guard followed and pinned her with a firm hand on her belly. Her initial attempts to pry him off were fruitless as he merely grasped her hands to his incredible chest once more with his second and trying to buck him off was met with deep chuckles that caused even more blushing and bucking that only ended when Thorin suddenly grabbed her ankles together in one hand and growled, “Cease before you shed what little cloth you have left!”

            Dwalin’s mumbled, “The ‘ell’d ye say that for?” was blatantly ignored by both King and Hobbit.

            Her knees were slightly bent up from her attempts to kick the guard off, so she moved her tightly clenched legs to the right in order to look the King in the eye, face incredulous, “Or you could call off your husband and let me leave to put _my_ clothes on. I’d really rather not be thrown from the mountain in naught but a shirt!” Bilbo wasn’t sure she’d even make it out the Mountain as it were. It seemed her face and body were trying to cook her from embarrassment and the fluttering urges that had been plaguing her since before she’d found the two dwarrow were betrothed.

            “The trouble ye’ve caused with yer bloody nap ye’d deserve it, but me an’ Thorin got somethin’ else in mind fer ye lass,” and if the bastard didn’t stop stroking her stomach through her shirt she was going to burst into a flame. Bilbo couldn’t tell if she wanted him to let her go or progress a few inches up or down where he could actually do some good. Thorin wasn’t helping her wits either, his own hands trailing in what he surely thought was a soothing manner up and down her calves. She was going to fracture something trying to clench down on her aching loins.

            But just because she may not be a proper lady, or hobbit any longer didn’t mean she’d throw herself at a pair of as good as married dwarrow! Or let them use her for sport, “You’d damn well not be thinking what I _think_ you’re thinking!” the growl was damn near feral as Bilbo stilled, body taut and strung tight, eyes deep and angry as she glared at the pair.

            That made all ‘soothing’ grind to a halt as the dwarrow looked at each other in surprise, well, Thorin was more scowling displeasure than surprise, but Dwalin was doing a sight better with a brow creased in concern. He raised his hand from the soft belly of his little friend and dragged her up with her hands. She followed swiftly, colliding with his chest again, an action he was growing increasingly fond of as a certain dazed appreciation seemed to suffuse the Halfling’s face when she did it. Grasping her chin to look him in the eye the guard asked plainly, “What the devil do ye think we’re thinkin’?”

            Plump mouth thinned in displeasure as big eyes burned with not a little bit of hurt, “Who told you about my nest?”

            “That’s not an answer,” Thorin growled as he shifted behind the hobbit kneeling in front of his mate. Mutiny had never looked so devastating as the plump creature glared over her shoulder at the King. Running a hand over his face at that Thorin mumbled, “I almost miss her sleeping. She was easier then.”

            “I like her fired up,” Dwalin muttered as he glanced at his King and then back at the wide brown eyes. Shaking his head he relented, “The weed eaters. When we couldn’t find ye and Thorin set the Mountain on its ear. We were worried someone’d taken off wit ye.”

            “Their _King_ implied there was some sentiment that went into your nesting choices,” Thorin’s voice couldn’t be anymore stilted if he tried. He was beginning to think the whole thing was a hoax to make fools of them all. If Gandalf hadn’t also been part of this farce he’d have already donned armor and set forth to burn their forest down.

            Bilbo blinked a few times, clearing her mind of the ridiculous amounts of pleasure Dwalin’s comment had shuttled through her, before attempting to glower through her, once again (honestly it was almost feverish, her blush), rapidly heating face, “Well I apologize then. For the trouble. I hardly meant to cause distress… As for the sentiment, I’d apologize for any discomfit that’s caused as well.” Her eyes flew every which way they could trying desperately to escape Dwalin’s, like some small bird away from a cat.

            “Oh aye? An’ wat sentiment’s tha’ exactly?” Dwalin growled as he actually glowered down at the suddenly very timid little miss. He wasn’t feeling any better about this fiasco than Thorin, but he’d see it all straightened and said _plainly_. Sentiment was a ruddy useless qualifier.

            That ruby flush to her cheeks, though, was telling him a story all its own, stilling his temper, “I… Well I mean… It’s completely improper I realize. I’d _never_ make anything of it, I know you’re both more than devoted, even fated it would seem. It was never supposed to come out and I didn’t even realize I was doing anything, not really fully aware when the Calling begins. I mean I’m not near as bad as Aunt Belba, she took off with Uncle Rudigar’s trous while the man was _in_ them, so I realize finding clothes missing is alarming in general, especially for a King from his own chambers. Not that I’d have done such had I not held you both… in such… _high_ regard… But it’s no excuse, I realize, and you really must let me make it up to –” the mindless rambling was cut short with the second seizure of her mouth, though this time by, surprisingly softer lips as large hands released her own so they could cradle her tiny face.

            The bemused look on the hobbit’s face was almost worth pulling away from her clinging mouth. Thorin’s quiet comment on, “effective way to silence the sharp tongue,” had merit. Smirking a bit self satisfied the guard placed his forehead to the softer one below him a moment before stating, plainly, “Don’t see anythin’ ‘improper’ with returnin’ our affections lass.”

            Bilbo’s eyes near flew out her head at the soft utterance, turning to see Thorin was also staring at her with no small amount of warmth she felt herself beginning to melt, “But… I’m… I’m just a hobbit.”

            “You’re a good deal more than just a hobbit. Even if you weren’t an ambassador, Hero of the Realm, and Dwarf Friend, you, Bilbo Baggins of _Erebor_ ,” the look the King weighed at her was firm and determined as he shifted so he knelt right behind her, heat coming off his own bare chest, “You are our missing piece.”

            “Aye, takin’ care o’ this lout’s too much for any _one_ dwarrow. Havin’ a partner to help wrangle him may keep Fíli off the thrown a century or more yet,” Dwalin was smiling as he smirked into the frowning continence of his first love, and the wondering one of his second.

            Bilbo was stunned by their admissions but that was swiftly giving over to the physical response she was having to their proximity as the pair bracketed her between Thorin’s supportive chest at her back and Dwalins landscape to her front. She subconsciously began trailing slim fingers through the rather dark hair she found there as she leaned into the King at her back, “I never even hoped _one_ of you could want me as I… as I wanted you. Both of you.”

            Warm arms circled her waist as Thorin bent to breath into her neck, nibbling at the sensitive skin there sending a sharp thrum of liquid fire to her core, “Far longer than I’ve any intention of dwelling on.”

            Dwalin had slid his calloused hands from her knees up and under the tunic she wore, grasping the plump flesh of her ass before raising her to straddle his lap, “Coulda been doin’ this fer at least a year now.” And then he was trailing his tongue lightly over the tip of her ear, nibbling at her jaw on the other side of her, his fingers dancing through other realms of her shamefully unclothed underside.

            The groan the guard made when finding a rather tight and pulsing cavern near soaked in want went right through her and into Thorin as the King growled and ripped the tunic open to cup at the bounty of their hobbit’s breasts, eliciting a _very_ satisfying little gasp from the breathy creature. Bilbo noted on her last sharp exhales as Dwalin’s large fingers found a rather charming little bundle of pure sensation inside her sheath, “I’ve loved you both since Beorn’s.”

            The dwarrow stilled at the admission, but only in so long as it took to be humbled by the amount of affection and emotion their mate was capable of, and how freely she gave it to them. Then they promptly set to their chosen tasks of exercising the newly woken hobbit and expressing their feelings through their chosen medium.

***

            Dís had already begun making the arrangements for a Midsummer Wedding well before the lads got their shit together enough to actually propose to their hobbit. She’d begun them the day after Durin’s Day.

***

            Eventually both idiots would come to terms with their words. Dwalin a month later when she brought him a large basket of his favored freshly baked cookies during one of his later shifts on the Watch. She’d been saying how she couldn’t abide not seeing him for dinner so perhaps they could have a moment for a small picnic when he’d kissed her breathless and mumbled his feeling into the warming ears of his intended.

            Thorin got there much, much later. They’d been married for a year when Bilbo found herself pregnant. After his initial faint (and no, Thorin, a body doesn’t just suddenly decide to _nap_ when it was in an upright position) the King had grabbed up their tiny wife and spun her about the Healing Hall exclaiming his love for the entire Mountain to hear. This, too, was something he would later deny doing, fervidly. At least, until his little Queen took her King and Consort to bed and managed to make the pair scream it into the mattress.

***

            Not all the Durin clan was so emotionally stunted. It took Kíli all of ten minutes after finding out Bilbo was awake to tell his new Auntie-to-be he loved her.

            Kíli had been running down the halls fully intending to find a mineshaft to fall into in order to escape the Council once more. They’d come for his and Fíli’s souls when their Uncle and Dwalin hadn’t made the morning summit in the thrown room. The heir had managed to dodge them citing a meeting with Bard that couldn’t be called off, and with one last pitying glance at his younger brother practically danced out the Halls. The Hoary bastards had instantly turned to the youngest Durin and advanced, to which he made the proper use of a strategic retreat. But they were just about to catch up with him; causing the lad to question the benefits of that stray mineshaft when lo and behold his savior arrived in glowing copper brocade that left her hairy feet visible under the shin length skirts. “Bilbo! You’re awake!” Kíli chuckled at the fussy hobbit when she squealed and slapped at his shoulders. Depositing Bilbo to the ground once more he glowed as she righted her dress, “How long have you been awake? Why didn’t Uncle tell anyone? Is that why they haven’t been seen since dinner yesterday?”

            Bilbo assumed her glowing cheats were going to be the cost of entering the Durin clan as she glared at the cheeky lad, “Hush you! And I’ve only just awoken this morning. Your Uncles and I had to have something of a lengthy _chat_ and we’ll be saying nothing more on the matter. Now, what were you running from, or to?” Terror raced through Bilbo’s spine as the lad’s face suddenly went ashen and his teasing eyes turned hunted. Eyes widening in surprise Bilbo reached for the lad, “Kíli! Are you all right?”

            The archer tried to shake the questing hand from him as he attempted to side step his soon to be Auntie, “I need to go before they get here!”

            “Before _who_ gets here!?” Bilbo wouldn’t let the lad go no matter the twisting he went through and was about to start demanding answers when suddenly he stilled and all the fight seemed to fall right out the boy.

            “There you are, Your Highness.” Turning Bilbo jumped back a pace, startled by the number of greybeards in the hall staring at herself and Kíli. They reminded her alarmingly of the goats her cousin Posco kept during a feeding. Eyes all watery and stolidly trained on the defeated lad behind her. Only thing they were missing were the oddly slit pupils, though they made up for whatever creepiness that supplied the animals with their size. Before she could decide to see if offering a head of cabbage would get them sufficiently distracted the one who’d spoken earlier stepped closer. Barely looking at the hobbit after his initial assessment of her presence, training bloodthirsty eyes on the prince, “It is almost time for the afternoon meeting with the Hunting Guild. As your advisors we thought to take it upon ourselves to find and supply you with the wisdom of our combined experience. Perhaps we should retire to a conference room and away from disreputable ears.”

            The last wasn’t so much a question as a command. And those ears he was talking about were pointed and not framing pudding. Bilbo’s back instantly snapped straight and she stared down her nose at the uppity codgers, glaring as they seemed to not take the threatening stance as what it was, the beginning of the end. She swiftly put them out of their delusions, patting Kíli’s arm she announced to the hall, “Oh, what luck then! It just so happens I’ll be overseeing that meeting. But you’re too right! A drafty hall is hardly appropriate for talks of such delicate nature. We should retire to one of the sitting rooms perhaps? Oh and Kíli, could you be a dear and ask Bombur to bring us some tea before you go to your Uncle?”

            The leading Advisor and Kíli would forever have this one moment together where they simultaneously yelped, “ _What_?!”

            A sharp smile Kíli was almost certain she’d borrowed from Uncle Dwalin decorated the plump face as Bilbo turned back to the greybeards, “That’s right, my good sirs. You’ll be dealing with myself and, of course, the Lady Dís until I’ve the hand of running the Mountain. It shouldn’t take too long though and then it will be myself singularly.”

            “This is preposterous! This is dwarf business pertaining to Erebor, the greatest of the Dwarrow Kingdoms! These are matters for the Royal Family. As neither royalty or dwarrow you haven’t any authority here!” the problem with mobs, as most would realize instantly, was the remarkable ability to remain anonymous within one. Otherwise that unadvisable bit of lip would have seen the sharp end of Kíli’s sword. Not a dwarrow she may be, but dwarrow hadn’t answered his Uncle’s call had they? No a tiny Halfling had riddled with a dragon to get their home back. And none of these dusty knobs had been anywhere in sight.

            Either way, Bilbo was more than happy to ‘smile’ at _all_ of them, “I am no dwarf, and I wouldn’t change that for anything. My hobbit sensibilities seem to have served myself and Erebor rather nicely so far, there being no dragon here any longer and myself not a pile of so much ash at the gates.” Her smile took on a softer edge as she clutched at something at her neck, revealing it to be a medallion embossed with the sigil of the House of Durin, “But _this_ makes me close enough to Royalty to handle the housework, even if my hobbit ways weren’t good enough qualifications already.” There was a certain mischief to her eyes as she nodded at the Council, “So you’ll be dealing with me from this day forward. Kíli dear? Don’t forget the tea before joining your brother and Uncles in Dale. I’m simply famished.”

            Kíli wasn’t one for decorum at the best of times. And this certainly qualified as he fell to his knees and grasped their burglar’s hands in his own, placing his forehead on the smooth digits, “I love you! I swear myself to you, my saintly Aunt. My sword and bow are yours to command in this world and the next.” He then jumped up and kissed the blushing hobbit’s cheek before tearing _ass_ out of the hall.

***

            Unsurprisingly to anyone who knew Bilbo, the Advisory Council didn’t last very long. As it turned out, throwing them out windows made them multiply but rambling about the proper way to brew a tea to go with your currant flavored scones made them retire. By the end of the month Bilbo had a whole new Council she’d hand picked from some of the working and fighting class elders, even a merchant or three. The Guilds were as ornery as ever but they were less inclined to yell and physically assault anyone in the presence of the hobbit who’d tamed their King and the Captain of the Guard, as well as scoured the Mountain of a Dragon and done away with Erebor’s Goat Brigade.

 


End file.
